


Perceptions

by CashaMayfield



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 21:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7657540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CashaMayfield/pseuds/CashaMayfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike asks the one question no Autobot has a ready answer for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perceptions

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for dumbing down the twins slightly. It just had to be done to make the bet work. This is my take… I suppose you could call it a tribute to the other fics out there that give the reasons for Jazz’s visor. This is just what I think. And there is a little nod to [ Ark Alacrity](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3204134/1/) because it’s such a cool idea! Set just after More Than Meets the Eye/Arrival from Cybertron.
> 
> First posted on Livejournal on 02/01/2007

Man, that kid is curious.  
“Why do we transform?” “Why do we do this?” “Why do we do that?” “Why fight the Decepticons?”  
He sure is one curious kid.

“Why does Jazz wear that visor?” Have to admit, that one kinda stopped me short, so I thought I’d stick around to hear why. Everyone was relaxed, lounging around the Ark after we’d defeated the Decepticons; sending them and their new ship to the depths of Earth’s oceans. We had a bit of time before refuelling and heading on back up to Cybertron. Back home. So yeah, we were all a bit happy and relieved. Seemed like the war might finally be over. Everyone was just sitting around, talking about everything and nothing. Huffer and Mirage were reminiscing about Cybertron. Hound and Bumblebee were patiently trying to answer all of Spike’s questions, especially as it seems he’s gonna be joining us on the journey home.  
That one question though… I heard it amongst all the chatter and it sent a jolt through my circuits.

“Why does Jazz wear that visor?” Hound stared at Spike for a moment. “I mean, the rest of you don’t wear a visor or anything, so why does he?”  
“I…” Hound faltered. I smiled. This should be interesting.  
“You know, I don’t know.” Bumblebee mused. He looked around, not noticing me. Blending in has always been one of my stronger abilities.  
“Hey guys… why *does* Jazz wear a visor?”

“Well, I reckon he’s blind.” Murmured Sideswipe. “Special Ops and all that before we came here.” Sunstreaker nodded slowly in agreement.  
“Pah. If he’s blind, then I’m a dumpster truck!” Ratchet scoffed. They both stared at him for long moments.  
“Yeah well, I bet you Sunstreaker’s high grade that he’s blind. That’s why he wears the visor, so we can’t see.”  
“My high grade?” Sunstreaker paused. “You sure about this bro?” Sideswipe nodded.  
“Fair enough.” Ratchet said leaning back. “Next time you two end up in my repair bay, I’ll turn your pain circuits off before I start working…” He paused, glancing meaningfully at them both, knowing how they behaved when injured. “… and I’ll even throw in a wax job.” A satisfied smile on all their faces, they shook hands sealing the deal.  
“Well, that’s my theory.” Sideswipe muttered.

“Well I think it’s what’s in his past.” Bluestreak started. Mirage flashed a look at him, but Bluestreak didn’t notice intent on continuing.  
“I think he’s seen so much pain, I mean I know we’ve all watched the bad things happening, but I think maybe he’s seen more than most and maybe that’s why he wears the visor so no one else can see the pain.” He finished and looked around expectantly.  
“Leakin’ lubricant! Ya talking out ya tail pipe Bluestreak. Jazz is tougher than half of ya put together. He’s seen more than most of us.”  
“With some exceptions.” Mirage interjected eloquently. Bluestreak threw him a grateful look before turning back to Ironhide.  
“So what do you think the reason is then?”  
“Well, Ah think it’s got summin’ to do with his time in Special Ops. Sort of missions them boys went on, they’d need every advantage they can get. Don’cha think Prowl?” Jazz stifled a laugh as Prowl was stopped dead in his tracks by Ironhide’s outstretched arm. If Prowl could have raised an eyebrow, he would have as he looked up from the datapad he’d been studying with a questioning look.  
“What?” The words sounded harsh even to Prowl’s audios.  
“Well? Whaddya think? Jazz wears that visor due to his having been in Special Ops.”  
“I heard you Ironhide.” Prowl replied calmly. “And while having all the necessary information available instantaneously would be a tactical advantage, Special Ops didn’t use it.”  
“Oh…”  
“I suggest if you really want to find out, you actually ask Jazz. It’s the most logical option.” With that, he returned to his datapad and carried on walking.

“I’d make yourself scarce for a while Jazz.” Prowl murmured as he came level with the saboteur’s hiding place in the shadows, not even looking up from his datapad.  
“Thanks Prowl man.” Jazz silently slipped out of the room, disappearing up one of the corridors before vanishing from Prowl’s optic range. Prowl hid a smile and shaking his head, made his way to his office.

“But we can’t ask him.” Bumblebee said.  
“But I want to know!” Spike replied. “Besides, Prowl’s got a point. We’d find the answer out for real if we asked him.”  
“But what if he doesn’t want to tell us? What if it’s something so bad, he just can’t tell us?” Bluestreak wanted to know.  
“That’s just a chance we’ll have to take.” Spike said, stalking determinedly out of the room on the search for Jazz.

Jazz sat quietly, listening for footsteps signalling the approach of his fellow Autobots. It would take a human to ask the most obvious question he realised. No one had ever asked before, and he didn’t think that any of them particularly cared. Few had known him before he joined the Autobots’ Prowl and Prime being the only ones who knew exactly what he did in Special Ops. He had to admit, the resulting answers his friends had given made him smile.

Bluestreak of course, would choose the pain option. It was true, he had seen a lot of destruction and friends terminated, but still he managed to keep a positive outlook. How he wasn’t quite sure, he just figured it was something to do with his programming. Bluestreak had chosen an alternative route. After seeing his home city destroyed by the Decepticons, he’d worked hard to become the best sharpshooter on Cybertron; a fact Optimus Prime often relied on in battle. Not that Bluestreak particularly enjoyed fighting, it was just he had to do something. Revenge sometimes worked as a way to find peace. But not always, Jazz was sure of that, and he did his best to look out for Bluestreak when he could, and make sure the younger Autobot was all right. Mirage looked out for Bluestreak too, which Jazz found surprising. Mirage was never one to fully embrace the Autobot’s cause, far preferring to have stayed on Cybertron. Yet he had seen destruction too, having to evacuate from his home before it was destroyed. They’d all seen destruction. It was simply that some dealt with it better than others. Jazz liked to think he coped rather well with it, figuring that as part of Special Ops, he’d had to do more than others in the fight against the Decepticons. Yes, there was pain, but it didn’t get him down, not in the way that it did others.

Ironhide’s explanation made sense. But then, Jazz would have expected nothing less from the seasoned warrior. Jazz actually wondered whether it would be worth talking to Wheeljack about the instant information retrieval system Ironhide had suggested. As Prowl pointed out, it would be a distinct tactical advantage. Special Ops had never used it though, relying more on the wit and ingenuity of its operatives. Jazz had been on more than his share of dangerous missions, deep into Decepticon territory to gather information and sabotage whatever the latest diabolical scheme was. He was good at his job; that was the reason Prime had asked for him specifically when he gathered together the Autobots for the scouting mission. That had been a long time ago and the short time they’d spent on Earth, he hadn’t had to do his ‘job’ as it were. Instead, he took on more of a role of leadership, assembling strike teams and leading them against the Decepticons. And of course, the unofficial role of morale officer he had assumed, keeping his friends motivated and happy. That was something else he was good at, Jazz realised. He just hadn’t realised how good he could be until he was forced into the situation. Gears and Huffer admittedly made the job more difficult, but he still managed to raise a smile out of them. Even if it took a while.

Jazz looked up the corridor briefly, double-checking for anyone coming, before settling back down to wait. The Ark wasn’t that big and he knew he’d be found eventually. It was just a matter of time. Spike was a determined kid when he wanted to be. He thought back to the interchange between Ratchet and the Lamborghini twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Both warriors amused him. Sunstreaker more so than Sideswipe simply because of his vanity. While Jazz admired his earthen vehicular mode, he didn’t compare himself to his friends in the same way Sunstreaker did. Always worrying about his paintjob, yet a ruthless opponent on the battlefield, Sunstreaker had few friends among the Autobots, most staying out of his way as he came across cold-blooded and contemptuous. Sideswipe was the friendlier of the two, keen to play practical jokes and amuse himself, often at the expense of the other Autobots. What amused Jazz the most was that they had gotten into a bet with Ratchet. And using Sunstreaker’s precious (and famous) high-grade energon as collateral. And Ratchet’s offer the next time they were in his repair bay. Although the twins were often in for repair – their jet judo certainly needed improvement – they weren’t the quietest patients, always managing to get the worst out of Ratchet. The prospect of not having to suffer any interference during their next repair, and the offer of a free wax job had been more than enticing, particularly to Sunstreaker. Yet, if they had thought the bet through, they would have never have made it. Ratchet was the Chief Medical Officer; out of all the Autobots, he alone would know if Jazz was blind. The thought made Jazz laugh, yet it was enough to instantly sober him too. As a Special Operative, he relied on his optics to keep him out of trouble, and to get himself out of trouble if needs be.

Footsteps echoed quietly down the deserted corridor. Jazz looked down at his feet to find Spike standing there.  
“Hey Spike my man, what can I do for you?” He said brightly, while silently cursing Prowl. Of course the tactician would point them in the right direction. ‘Only logical option.’ Trust Prowl. At least he’d warned Jazz; their friendship gave him that much. Although, knowing Prowl, he was getting a kick out of Jazz squirming.  
“Why do you wear that visor?” Jazz smiled.  
“Like I always say, do it with style or don’t bother doing it. It’s cool man.”  
“But…” Spike faltered, clearly not expecting Jazz to have answered so promptly. “So you’re not blind or suffering a lot of pain you’d rather keep hidden? And it’s nothing to do with the Special Ops you were with?”  
“Nope.”  
“Oh…”  
“Anything else?”  
“I… I guess not.”  
“Well, you’d best tell all the others the reason, put them straight… and tell Ratchet I want some of that high-grade.” Jazz stood up and left Spike standing there open-mouthed in disbelief.

“Well?” Prowl asked as Jazz entered his office.  
“Disbelief man, pure disbelief.” Prowl leant back in his chair and smiled, a rare thing from the normally calm and collected tactician.  
“I’ve known you for a long time Jazz, but every now and then you do something that defies logic. You enjoyed listening to them.”  
“Yeah… I guess I did man. Int’resting to see how they think, don’t you think?”  
“I have to say, they were very intriguing explanations they came up with.”  
“Definitely man, definitely. Nowhere close though. Nowhere. Can’t help it if I want to look cool.”  
“Do it with style…”  
“Or don’t bother doing it.” They shared a smile as they could hear the results of Spike having told the others the true answer; raised voices, most notably Sunstreaker’s, followed closely by the sound of Ratchet laughing uncontrollably.  
“Cool man… cool.”


End file.
